Saturday, November 3, 2007

today: thoughtful batch of melancholy

The word of the day is "surrender," and we are going to look at that for a minute. I have been listening to my friend Brooke formulate and delineate her therapeutic perspective. We spoke today of the body's release, as she refers to it. She is becoming certified in yoga instruction, as well as psychotherapy, so for her the body is psyche's map, a conduit, a source of pain, play, tension, and relaxation. This is where working with her begins.

Ah, but me? I escape into the mind, I flee into the soulful subjects, the romanticism of image. I have a fear of letting go, fear of this very release she spoke of so eloquently today. I have thought it would sweep me away. Or under.

I was practicing yoga myself last week. My instructor, Mario, was helping me into position, some sort of back-bendy, one-legged, foot-holding thing. I looked at him and said, "I can't do it." Mind you, I hadn't tried yet. He said he would be there to help, make sure I could, make sure I did not fall. I realized all of a sudden that this was very big business for me. Way more than just an asana whose name I cannot remember.

I was afraid. I had to trust. I allowed myself to give in to the position as I leaned my head back. I felt how hard I tried to relax, and how I could somehow, awkwardly, hold the position. I felt proud. And I started sobbing as soon as I got to the car.

To catch you up, now, I am here in San Francisco, and I am in a hotel room. Alone, exhausted. If the other day was filled with the emotional aspects of desire -- the patience, the excitement, the sadness, the hunger, and thirst -- today is a day where I surrender. I give up, and I feel the shift in my body, even as I type the words. It is a relief not to run, a relief to ask for, a relief to let something be what it obviously, very nakedly is, instead of wanting so badly for it to be different.

I say it again. I sit in a hotel room. Temporary places -- I wish I could just live here a while. I surrender to the truth of it. I surrender to the fact that, as much as I try to make it not so, I have a harder time allowing love to come to me than giving it out.

Through the fear, I have always wanted to be swept away. I find myself out in the current, a little sucked under. I have been afraid of these moments, and fled into my mind, keeping my body (and heart, of course) neatly, cleanly, efficiently out of things. Less messy, I thought. I call it despair-avoidance.

But guess what? (and this is the really meaty, good part, dears) I am looking around at the waves rolling and crashing, and it is okay. I feel that my desire and where I am going is out of my tightly-held control, and it is okay.

I am blessed with extraordinary friends, that I love deeply. I looked at an old family photo the other day and thought, "how could I love them more?" And I realized yet again, how lucky I am, deeply blessed to have such parents, such a brother, such a sweet, funny sister.

Today I am reminded that joy is a process, and love is a movement. Whether we try to run, struggle against, or deny deny. Love wins.

And, (ok just say it) it's worth the surrender.

Thanks for sticking with me through the meandering.
More later; more playful too.

My wishes of surrender to all,

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